


inventory

by Anemoi



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-09
Updated: 2015-05-09
Packaged: 2018-03-29 16:36:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3903271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anemoi/pseuds/Anemoi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Consider this-</p>
            </blockquote>





	inventory

Consider this, because you were always fond of stories. Every time someone asks you which player had the greatest impact on your career you will have the same answer. _“Call me Stevie, everyone does.”_ He speaks in a very quick mumble and his accent's almost impossible, so all you can do at first is nod along and smile. You were very blonde, then, straight out of a bottle blonde, and he liked to ruffle your hair, like you were a child he was particularly fond of. 3 years is not a lot but it might as well be decades in football. He was the captain and you were the prince.

Consider this, you know you were always more fond of stories than reality. You scored a lot of goals when you wore a red shirt. It felt, very much, like flying. You tell him this one day, after you fell in to bed together like a natural progression to whatever it was unfurling between you two on the pitch. You tell other people too, afterwards, when they asked. It felt a lot like flying, not, you would be quick to point out, anything like flying in a dream. You never dreamt about flying, you only dreamt about falling. You _lived_ and flew.

Consider this, if the multiverse theory existed like you'd so ardently hoped for, as a child clutching Lord of the Rings with one hand and a ball with the other. You think, in every world, you would want this- to walk in to Anfield and hear your song. _The Torres bounce_. To walk in to Anfield was to walk in to his house. To score was to have his arms around you. You wrote your name, carefully, in to the histories of Liverpool football club, and knew it was the same as imprinting yourself in to his memory forever.

Consider this- royal blue is for winning. Also consider this- at what cost? You no longer dream about falling. You dream about drowning.

Consider this, since you were always fond of stories. Once upon a time you played in a red shirt and you felt like you could score every time he passed you the ball. Or this- Once upon a time you played in a red shirt and you stayed. You won trophies, on wild feverish european nights and frenzied rainy english mornings, cups and league titles and medals clattering on your chest. Or this- You stayed. You won nothing but more nights in his bed, his heartbeat under your palm, and you were always a prince and never a traitor.

Now consider how, in every storyline, it is the same. You met him. You fell in love. You don't end up together. And that, you know, could almost break your heart, if you let it. 


End file.
